Family Matters
by Hane no Zaia
Summary: In which Cross hates children, Timothy hates Cross, and an unstable Allen Walker speaks to shadows. Family matters; because familiarity breeds contempt, and occasionally, love.
1. Hands Held, Pledges Made

_**Note:**__ At the time of Timothy's and Allen's first meeting (and Mana's meeting with Allen), their respective ages start out as reversed, with Allen at age nine and Timothy at age fifteen (approximately), progressing from there. _

_Furthermore, certain liberties have definitely been taken with the timeline, so in case you notice any discrepancies concerning that, then they are probably intentional (or not, heh)._

_This is the result of another thought experiment. Make of it what you will._

**-o0o-**

**Hands Held, Pledges Made**

**-o0o-**

It was an old building. It was not ancient, but certainly old enough to have seen the infancy, gradual maturation and eventual decline of more than a few generations that had ventured into it, some more regularly than others. Events both joyous and bereaved had left their permanent mark on the building, and some of which had lingered more profoundly than others.

Rumours had it that it was a tragedy that had finally closed it down; that a most joyous occasion ‒ a wedding ‒ had taken a turn for the worst, leaving the bride dead and the groom crippled. Since then, the building ‒ a church ‒ had stood empty to all but those vagrants brave, poor or merely foolish enough to venture inside in order to seek shelter from the elements.

It was empty and dirty; humid but not overly so, compared to the outside, where the night's rain had only just ended and left behind a rising fog in its wake in the early morning hours that followed.

From his position, he found that he could observe the weather conditions just fine, even though the window upon which sill he had found his perch was dirty and fogged up now due to their presence.

The world out there was grey but gradually growing lighter; it told him that hours had passed, but as far as the latter was concerned, the gradually increasing stiffness of his neck and the numbness of his right leg could very well have sufficed as indicators of just how long he had been seated there, balancing precariously yet effortlessly on the windowsill with his right leg carrying the greater weight of his burden and his left one dangling slightly.

Truth to be told, it was by no means the most comfortable position in which he had ever found himself. However, with his charge finally catching up on some sleep, he reasoned that it ought to be a shame to wake the other accidentally by any greater movement.

At the sound of wing beats, he finally tilted his head, suppressing a slight wince as his neck proved disinclined to approve of the motion.

"Timcanpy."

He spoke quietly, and was immediately awarded with two wing beats in quick succession; in acknowledgement as the golden golem swooped down to take up its perch on top of his head.

"Tim?"

He looked down at his charge and bleary silver-grey ones gazed right back at him in confusion before abruptly being directed towards their still fairly darkened surroundings.

"What is this place?"

"Nowhere in particular."

Those eyes turned on him anew, narrowing slightly in suspicion. "You're lying."

A wry smile spread across his features. "And you're a serious pain in the neck."

The kid finally got the hint. "Sorry."

Minutes later found them back on solid ground ‒ or just solid floor in case one felt it necessary to nitpick. "How long was I out?" Allen finally asked.

"A while," he responded easily ‒ because there was really no reason for him to be more specific than that ‒ and finished rifling through their meagre assembly of belongings, withdrawing the hand to instead tug at his headband, making sure that it covered his forehead the way that it should. "Because you went a bit overboard."

He got a somewhat guilty shift in response to that, and all in all, that was enough. After all, pressing the matter any further would just be a waste of time and energy seeing that both of them were far too stubborn to give in to just about anyone.

Cross had somewhat disdainfully referred to it as a fatal flaw to their respective characters, though truth to be told, when it came to flaws of one's character, the man really wasn't in any position to be passing judgements on anyone; least of all on them.

"Well, at least I got the job done," Allen finally snapped, having shifted his posture to accommodate the noticeable shift in attitude, which tilted towards the ever defiant. "Tim."

Frankly, Tim ‒ who was not Timcanpy but rather the teenaged Timothy Hearst ‒ minded neither the attitude nor the insinuation; Allen had technically been the one to deal with akuma, seeing that the other had been the one who had dashed off in order to confront it.

However, it was just as true that Tim had been the one to deal with the aftermath, in which an overexerted Allen ‒ who despite his age still retained the visual appearance of one much younger ‒ had collapsed and remained largely insensible to the world for the hours that followed, waking up only briefly during the ride to London.

If anything, it had been Tim who had been stuck with a much greater part of the work, but with him being in his late teens and Allen being about five years younger, he hardly held much of a grudge. He had after all intentionally put himself into the position of caring for the other, seeing that there was hardly anyone around even remotely capable of the task and even if there was, they would hardly invoke the amount of trust necessary in order for Tim to entrust them with Allen's welfare. After all…

Allen gave rise to an indignant squawk when Timothy reached out to ruffle his hair, scrambling away just as quickly, scowling more openly now. "What the Hell did you do that for, you bastard?!"

Timothy didn't retort, rewarding the insult with a mischievous grin.

**-o0o-**

"You don't need to carry me, you know?"

Timothy resisted a sudden urge to roll his eyes, courtesy of an argument much too familiar to him. "For all intents and purposes, I do, because I'd really hate to lose you in this crowd," he deadpanned, hoisting Allen up further on his arm where they were at one of the station's platforms, waiting for their train to turn up.

His younger charge looked somewhat dissatisfied, but opted not to pursue the matter, knowing well the truth of his caretaker's statement. "You're taller now," Allen noted, scrutinising him.

"I'm seventeen now; it'd be strange if I weren't taller," Timothy responded, adjusting his grip once more. "No offence, bud."

The frown that had begun to form on his charge's face vanished swiftly as it instead smoothened out into a deadpan expression of neutrality and seeming disinterest. Then, it was hidden altogether from his view as Allen turned head straight to get a better look at what was going on around them. "None taken."

"You sure? Because I felt you tense up just now."

"Shut up."

Hearing the other's tone, he came to a pause and shifted a miniscule bit to throw a glance behind them, eyes rapidly zeroing in on the black-clad figure standing at the outskirts of the crowd, leaning against a pillar.

Turning back towards the tracks, Timothy then proceeded to address his charge, keeping his voice low but casual. "Tim's still with you?"

He could feel fingers digging into his shoulder, tightening around the fabric of his worn coat.

"Pocket."

He dipped his head slightly to acknowledge this as fact, keeping his posture relaxed as he turned back to look whether or not their train would be arriving anytime soon. "Good. We're boarding the next train."

Allen said nothing, but lifted his head slightly.

"Don't worry about it, okay?" Timothy mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and then back again. "I've got this."

Once again feeling the additional weight of the other's head on his shoulder, he allowed himself a thin smile that remained in place as they eventually boarded the train, wiping it from his face completely when he ‒ still burdened with the weight of their luggage ‒ crossed paths with a white-clad and bandaged finder headed in the opposite direction; first class, no doubt.

Behind him ‒ or rather hiding behind his coattails ‒ Allen stood, observing the passerby with wary eyes even as they too moved along, set upon another destination altogether.

With some difficulty, they found seats for themselves, with Allen as per usual claiming a window seat, eager to look at the landscapes rather than at the people, though the latter also gained some interest from time to time, as was evident from the child's glances.

Timothy himself on the other side took the seat that was closer to the aisle, but he hardly remained there for long, because soon after the train had set off from the station, Allen had directed his young but keen eyes towards him, scrutinising him briefly before finally offering up the window seat.

A switch was made, and soon thereafter, his aching head impacted on the nearby windowpane as the lack of sleep from the night-time adventures a few days prior finally extracted their long overdue vengeance upon him, throwing him headlong into a state of oblivion.

**-o0o-**

"No." Stubbornly, he stood, newly turned seventeen, arms folded across his chest, glaring outright at his opponent.

His opponent ‒ who was none other than his teacher ‒ gave rise to a dismissive wave, sinking further into his slouch where he sat at the kitchen table, sipping Romanée-Conti as though it wasn't ten in the morning. "I'll write a letter of recommendation, so scram."

"Don't bother," he scoffed, standing his ground, eyes growing even harder. "As long as we do our job, there's no need to go official, is there?"

Cross Marian regarded him with clear disinterest bordering on displeasure. Then again, Cross' general state of antipathy as far as children were concerned was to be regarded as the rule rather than the exception, and as a teenager, Timothy was by no means the exception to the rule.

Dirty brats; Cross generally referred to them as such, because differing ages aside, he and Allen were generally regarded as such.

Either way, Timothy had little patience to put up with Cross at the present. Usually, he did suffer the other's moods and attitude, not so much for himself but rather for the sake of another. After all…

"This isn't about me. I don't have anything to hide. This is about Allen."

The glint in the other's eyes hardened slightly, though the slouch remained the same. "What about the brat?"

Timothy stood his ground, but shifted his posture slightly, determined to appeal to reason before resorting to anger. "You hate that place. I certainly wouldn't like it. And Allen…"

"And what?"

He finally bristled, but withstood the rising urge to pounce, knowing well that it wouldn't end well; for him in particular. Knowing this, he restrained himself to elocution, even though violence would certainly have lain closer at hand.

"Look, _bâtard_…" He unfolded his arms, curling his hands into tight fists to suppress the urge to claw at the other's face. "I might not understand every damn thing you've got going on and all, but that grandma ally of yours and companion dropped enough hints for me to know that Allen coming under the scrutiny of the Order would be a very bad thing. Oh yes, it would. If you send the letter of recommendation, then it's only natural that they'd look into our backgrounds and it's a given that we'd be placed under some sort of scrutiny…"

"Look…" He forced his fists to uncurl, staring down at the crescents forming from his nails in order to distract him from Cross' continued and utterly infuriating indifference. "I know for a fact that you haven't been in contact with the Order – If you were, then you'd be living off their money instead of that of your sponsors. Your movements, along with the fact that you've picked us up along the way, are a secret – and if you send us to the Order, they'll learn what you've been up to and will probably be right onto tracking you down soon enough… which is probably what you've been planning all along, but I won't go along with such a stupid plan."

"If our presence is somehow a hindrance, then I'll just take Allen and leave," he went on to say, keeping his voice and demeanour calm despite the rage still simmering beneath. "We'll go hunt some akuma, create a bit of havoc and divert the attention from you… and I'll train him – _properly_ – unlike what you've been doing, you _arsehole_."

That earned him a scoff, before his teacher ‒ who he steadfastly refused to refer to as any master of his ‒ continued to sip the wine as though Timothy's words had been of little consequence; a fact which probably held true as far as Cross was concerned. "What can a dirty brat such as yourself do?"

"What can I do?" Timothy snapped right back at him, voice teetering on the edge of becoming an outright snarl. "Quite a lot actually, because unlike Allen, I aim for where it really hurts."

The way in which his teacher paused ‒ attention shifting to him and lingering there briefly before once again shifting ‒ told Timothy that at least some of his words had hit home. Then, Cross Marian downed what little remained in his glass, seemingly having come to a decision. "If you want to take responsibility for the brat, then be my guest."

"And the catch?"

Timothy gained another look for this, but he didn't back down. After all, there was always a-

"When I need him, I'll get in touch," the other finally yielded, pouring himself another glass.

Again, Timothy found himself dangerously close to bristling. "And you expect us to come flying, just like that, at your beck and call?"

"Evidently."

No hesitation, as though this type of action was to be naturally expected of them.

"You're full of shit, you know that?" Timothy snapped. "But fine, if you ask for our help in this elusive mission of yours, we'll turn up to provide assistance."

"However…" He turned and headed for the door, pausing once he reached it, turning his head to catch the eyes still lingering upon him. "Up until that point, we are free to wander however we want, yes? Then, there'll be no need to involve the Order along with a lesser risk of the Earl being able to track you down; that'll be beneficial for all of us, don't you think?"

Judging from the wry look crossing the other's face, Timothy could definitely tell just what the other thought of him and his words and he turned around fully, leaning against the doorframe.

"Look…" he said, exasperated. "I'll take responsibility for Allen; I won't let him get hurt, and I'll teach him to the best of my ability without interference from the Order. If neither of us are official exorcists, we are also less likely to be targeted as long as we keep a moderately low profile… which we wouldn't if we went around sporting the same garb as you do, because that's basically the same as painting a big target onto our backs… I'll do my best to keep him safe, and to teach him to protect himself."

"As I said," Cross relayed, regarding him just the same as always; as a dirty brat that was ultimately of little other use than as a shield at best and as cannon fodder at worst. "If you think that you can handle the responsibility, be my guest."

"But?"

Cross removed the rim of the glass from his lips, smirking; a disquieting sign to say the very least. "As far as the Order knows, I might as well be dead," he proceeded to remark, downing what little remained in the glass before slamming it down onto the table's surface with a tad more force than necessary. "There are a few things I need to drop off, and since I'm busy being dead at the moment, I guess that you'll have to do it for me."

Timothy steeled himself, particularly when Cross pulled out his trusty Judgement and began polishing the outside of it with a clean rag. "And if I refuse?"

**-o0o-**

"Tim?"

He snapped back awake to a small hand on his arm, fingers digging into the fabric.

To one side was the carriage window, and it was dark outside, telling of just how long he had been sleeping, seeing that it had been late in the morning the last he knew.

To the other side was a hooded Allen, awake and alert, pulling at his sleeve now; urging him to come along. Timcanpy was on top his charge's head, partially hidden beneath the hood.

"We need to get off of the train."

Though still a tad disoriented, he gathered their things and allowed Allen to lead him.

They made it out just in time before the whistle sounded for it to depart once more, and it soon thereafter did, leaving them standing alone at the platform of a community that was big enough to count as a larger village but rural enough to lack any greater importance in the world, despite the castle towering eerily over it in the distance, located on top of a hilltop.

Even in the dark, Timothy found that he knew what he was looking at with little difficulty, considering the fact that he had visited the place not so long ago. "Why here?" he asked, hoisting the bag containing their things upwards, slinging it over his shoulder.

Even in the dark, or perhaps more because of it, Timothy felt the force of multiple pairs of eyes bearing down upon them. And, judging from the way in which Allen shifted closer to him, the other had definitely felt it as well. "Akuma?" he question, his voice barely audible.

Allen was now so close to his leg that he could actually feel it when the younger shook his head repeatedly.

Despite feeling wary, Timothy took a step forward, in direction of the village.

Though reluctant, Allen followed, hooded and hiding in his shadow.

Determined not to make themselves look any more suspicious than necessary, Timothy extended a hand towards his younger charge, who despite seeming uneasiness took it and followed along as Timothy lead them deeper into the village, disregarding the eyes that still followed.

Even in the dark, he navigated the village without much difficulty, finding his way to an inn, only to find it along with a whole lot of other buildings boarded shut and seemingly abandoned, which was a worrying sign to say the very least.

Admittedly, there were still light visible in some of the windows. The curtains were however drawn, though some moved on occasion, giving way to the spying eyes of hidden villagers.

It was unnerving to say the very least, but Timothy had experienced his fair share of unnerving situations, and this one did not even come close to being the worst. "Let's go."

"Where?" was Allen's immediate but very quiet response, barely audible over the sound of his stomach rumbling.

Timothy pointed off in direction of the castle, its silhouette sharp against the night sky, light emanating from more than a few windows. "There."

There was doubt being reflected back at him, but no protests followed as they headed off, passing through the village and into the woods that followed, riddling the hillside on the way up to the castle.

Once they had made it several yards into the woods, the feeling of eyes upon them ended suddenly, their presence fading soon thereafter.

Even so, they continued onward for a bit before either of them spoke, speaking softly even though they were by all means out of earshot by then.

"I'm hungry."

With a sigh, Timothy came to a stop and shrugged the bag from his shoulder, putting it on the ground and reaching into it, finding what he had been looking for almost right away. Moments thereafter found him dangling a chocolate bar in front of his younger charge, whose eyes lit up at the sight of it. "Will this do?"

Wordlessly, Allen snatched it, and Timothy let him do so, seeing no actual reason to take offence; they had after all had more than enough time to get used to and to accommodate each other's quirks, whatever said quirks may be.

As they continued uphill, Allen unwrapped the sweet, offering up a piece of it to Timothy, who graciously accepted it, popping it into his mouth.

"What does he look like?"

Somewhat puzzled, Timothy sent Allen a look, but didn't pause. "Who?"

"_Tsukikami._"

It was a strange question and a sudden one at that, but Timothy saw no actual reason not to answer.

"Back when we first met, he looked older, kind of like I do now, except a tad more eccentric," he explained as they continued onward. "Nowadays, he looks like a younger me."

"Why?"

He shrugged mildly in response. Truth to be told, he hadn't really…

"I think that in a way, he embodies my wish to remain a child," he finally decided, pausing finally when he heard Allen's steps come to a sudden stop, followed by a voice speaking out of the darkness.

"Why would you want to do that?"

He turned, looking back at Allen where he in turn stood, looking up at him, Timcanpy airborne and darting about, seemingly mapping out the area now that there was little risk of him being seen.

"Growing up ain't all that fun to be completely honest." Timothy shifted his posture slightly where he stood. "When you grow up, you get lots of responsibilities, and people start demanding more of you. I mean, it ain't all bad, but it's just… you don't…"

He trailed off, averting his eyes just the same before turning his attention back to what lay ahead. "On second thought, forget about it. It's nothing important."

For a while, they continued onward in silence, Allen once again trailing behind him like a shadow and Timcanpy tailing them in turn, the sound of his wing beats bouncing back and forth between the trees at either side of them.

"You don't want to grow up…" Allen finally concluded, speaking quietly but with a great degree of certainty. "You don't want to grow up because you want things to be the way they were before."

"Yes."

"Me too."

Timothy did not pause, though he did send the other a brief look before once again directing his eyes ahead. "Is that why you no longer age?"

In spite of his own curiosity, he kept his voice perfectly level and neutral. "It's been nearly two years. As far as I can see, you haven't aged."

Even without looking, he could feel the weight of silver-grey eyes levelled upon him. "You didn't think that I'd notice, did you?"

A quiet mutter resounded from behind him, as the steps tailing him came to another stop. "Didn't think that you'd care."

He actually scoffed at that and stopped as well, making note of Timcanpy's nervous fluttering. "Do you really think so lowly of me, you brat?" he snorted, sending the aforementioned brat a short but sharp look before turning his eyes back ahead.

Above them, a gust of wind blew through the trees and there was a slight rustle from the undergrowth, though nothing of any greater significance to any of them, just like they were hardly of any greater significance to anyone or anything dwelling in these woods.

Again, a rustling sound was heard. This one however was significantly closer at hand, and it originated from Allen, who closed the distance between them in silence, reaching out to grab hold of Timothy's sleeve once he was close enough, speaking softly. "I'm sorry, Tim."

Timothy scoffed. "Doubt it."

"I _am_ sorry," Allen snapped, tightening his grip on the sleeve, pulling at it.

"Why don't you want to grow up?" Timothy asked, deadpan.

"Does it matter?" was the frustrated response that he got, and the grip on his sleeve tightened slightly before loosening, before letting go altogether.

"Dunno," Timothy responded, deliberately challenging him. "You tell me."

Silver-grey eyes settled upon him briefly before Allen averted them, noticeably uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. "Doesn't matter."

Sensing this was a matter of greater importance than that of reaching the castle, Timothy slid the bag down from his shoulder, depositing it onto the ground next to them as he crouched down so that they could look at each other more evenly, without either looking up or down on the other. Even so, his eyes were serious when he regarded Allen, who only more pointedly avoided making eye contact in return. "If it doesn't matter, why did you bring it up?"

Allen stood his ground, continuing to keep his eyes averted and keeping a stubborn silence.

Normally, Timothy would just have let it go. Tonight however…

He remained in a crouch, his brown eyes calmly regarding Allen who shifted uncomfortably beneath the keen scrutiny.

In the end, they were both stubborn. Timothy however had the benefit of a few more years of experience, and had learned the fine art of patience from dealing with the more often than not utterly infuriating Cross Marian.

Soon enough, Allen cracked, eyes flickering to meet his very briefly before being averted once more.

"When I'm old enough…" Allen spoke softly, voice barely audible over the sound of Timcanpy's wing beats. "When I'm old enough, he said he's going to take over my body…"

"Who said?"

Silver-grey eyes remained averted. Brown ones hardened.

"Allen. Who said?"

Finally, those eyes snapped towards him, slightly wide and pupils very much dilated, though the latter probably had more to do with the lack of light than with anything that had just passed between them. Even so, those wide eyes and dilated pupils did give him a very eerie appearance, coupled with the pallor of his skin and sheer whiteness of the hair that was peeking out from beneath the hood.

First, silence. Then, three words ‒ uttered in a quick voice that bordered on a whisper. "The grinning shadow."

Timothy stared right back, imagining that his own appearance ought to look fairly eerie as well when it all came down to it. He imagined himself looking puzzled, because that was what he was. Temporarily at a loss as for what to say, he instead motioned for Allen to continue and the other did so, albeit very reluctantly.

"He lives in my dreams now… but he said that he'll leave them once I'm old enough," Allen said, averting his eyes once more and shifting his weight from one foot to the other and then back again. "Says that I promised."

"Promised what?" Timothy finally asked, keeping his voice perfectly level and calm even though he was not.

Again, Allen's eyes turned towards him. "To let him do that."

"Did you?" Timothy questioned, and Allen's eyes once again flickered elsewhere.

"I don't remember."

"Since when?" Timothy pressed, laying his hands on top of Allen's shoulder in an effort to keep him reasonably grounded in reality and reason. "Since when is he in your dreams?"

"Since I…"

Allen trailed off again, looking at nothing in particular; really just staring out into the darkness. Timothy shook him slightly, and his head whipped back and forth slightly, unresisting and still staring blankly at something ‒ or nothing ‒ to one side.

Gaining no favourable reaction ‒ or any reaction whatsoever ‒ Timothy opted for another approach. He moved his hands from the other's shoulders to the sides of their face, turning Allen's face towards him and tilting it slightly upwards.

Like he usually did when he was in a daze, Allen offered up little to no resistance and towards being manhandled, which was something that Allen normally resented and he usually tended to be fairly vocal about it.

"Did you tell Cross?" Timothy asked, keeping his voice calm as he moved his thumbs slightly against Allen's cheeks, caressing the area beneath the eyes.

As intended, the additional sensory stimulation had Allen back to focusing on him and stared right back at him now, a bit unfocused still but definitely less dazed than previously. "No."

"Why not?" Timothy questioned, continuing his ministrations as a worried Timcanpy finally settled on top of his head to overlook the proceedings.

Allen stared up at him now, face as blank as empty as the voice uttering the words that soon followed. "He wouldn't care."

"Okay, fine," Timothy yielded, conceding the point because Cross Marian was an outright bastard who was severely stunted as far as basic human decency was concerned. "But this shadow; does he talk to you? Often? About what?"

"He only spoke to me back when I first met him," Allen relayed, looking right back at him, his eyes wide and pupils so dilated that they looked dangerously close to consuming what little remained of the iris. "His eyes are round and glow in the dark."

"Sounds creepy," Timothy instantly conceded.

Following the comment, there was a rapid blink, followed by another and then…

"It is," Allen responded, pupils no longer as dilated.

"Did he tell you his name?"

The answers came more rapidly now; more certain. "No."

"Does he know your name?"

A heartbeat. "Yes."

"And you're positive that you don't know him?"

Hesitation, followed by a slight frown. "I don't remember."

"So, no?"

No answer.

Timothy finally let go of Allen's face and straightened back up, taking a step back to allow Allen some space. "Sounds like the bogeyman to me," he commented idly.

It was apparently the right question to ask, because Allen's attention snapped to him and it was focused at that. "What's a bogeyman?"

Timothy stared back at him with disbelief and no small amount of scepticism, Timcanpy still riding on top of his head. "You don't know who the bogeyman is?"

Apparently, Allen did not.

"Well…" Timothy began, turning back to face the path that still lay ahead of them. "He basically is this shadowy thingy that hides beneath children's beds or something… or in their closets."

"He exists?" Allen sounded sceptical, but also a tad unnerved.

"As a figment of small children's imagination, yes," Timothy yielded, motioning for Allen to come along as he himself resumed the walk uphill.

With about a moment's delay, Allen followed, struggling to keep up with Timothy's quickened pace. "Do you believe in the bogeyman?" he asked a bit breathlessly, and Timothy slowed down some to accommodate for the other's much shorter legs.

"Not anymore, no."

For a while, they continued onward in silence.

Soon thereafter, they reached the end of the woods and stood in the deeper shadows of the castle that now towered directly above them.

"When did you stop believing?" Allen asked, keeping his voice steady but quiet as he brushed his hand against Timothy's larger one.

"Dunno," Timothy responded, fingers instinctively curling around it.

For a few moments, they just stood there, hand in hand, looking up at the castle towering over them.

"Do you sense anything?" Timothy finally asked.

The response proved flat, as well as immediate. "Low-level akuma."

"How many?"

Allen raised the index finger of his left hand.

"Well then…"

They stepped forward, and onward; together.

**-o0o-**


	2. One Man, One Youth, One Child

_The second chapter. Enjoy._

**-o0o-**

**One Man, One Youth, One Child**

**-o0o-**

"Sometimes… he seems so much older than he looks."

Brown eyes were levelled upon the former count; upon Arystar Krory the Third, who had been their travelling companion for almost a month now, following the man's not so successful breakup with his akuma mistress.

"Other times, he seems so much younger," the count went on to say, attention on the snowy-haired head resting on top of Timothy's lap, the rest of the body sprawled across the rest of the seat. "It's very strange."

"It's complicated." Timothy shrugged mildly, a book in his hand and Timcanpy once again perched on top of his head. "Simply put, he is older than he looks, but he acts older and younger than he is."

Krory ‒ privately and most affectionately dubbed Nosferatu ‒ looked, if possible, even more puzzled, prompting Timothy to explain further. Because obviously, if the other intended on travelling with them, it was probably better to set the record straight from the very beginning rather than to start explaining in hindsight.

"When he was ten, he committed a taboo, and got cursed because of it," Timothy relayed, without seeing the necessity to spill all the details, quite gruesome as they were. "The curse; it broke his mind…"

He trailed a finger down it. The fact that Allen didn't even twitch proved a clear testament to the quality of the sleep he was getting. For this, Timothy was relieved.

"He still hasn't healed… and in a way I doubt that he ever will…" he said, moving his hand back towards the side of Allen's head, stroking it gently. "The scars – they all run too deeply for that."

Krory opened his mouth, looking like he was about to say something, but then snapped it back shut, eyes darting back and forth between them before being torn away completely, settling on the unfamiliar landscape passing by outside the carriage window.

"I knew him before it happened," Timothy went on to say, taking the other's embarrassment, general awkwardness and social anxiety for exactly what they were and directing his visible attention towards the sleeping Allen instead, continuing his ministrations and actually earning a contented sigh in response; a novel experience, truly.

"Occasionally, he acts very similar to how he did back then… and other times, his mannerisms are eerily similar to those of the very person who cursed him in the first place."

He hadn't really been expecting a response, so he was surprised when he got one.

"This person…" Krory began, obviously hesitant as to whether he ought to go on or not. "This person; do you hate them?"

Timothy closed his eyes briefly before opening them again, gathering his feelings and thoughts momentarily before speaking. "Hate is a strong word. I merely wish that he had only told Allen beforehand – maybe a simple warning wouldn't have made such a difference, but still I…"

"You blame yourself?"

Timothy shrugged mildly in response. "I was summoned back to deal with the funeral arrangements for my old man… and arrived only in time to pick up the pieces."

He suppressed a shudder, because it definitely lay close at hand.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Timothy responded, perfectly calm despite the evidently touchy subject. "I'm the one who ought to be sorry – I was, and I still am, and I'm trying to make up for it now that I can. I left his side once. This time around, I won't. This time around, I'll be sure to protect him."

Even for him, it was a fairly bold statement, but a true one nonetheless.

"He is precious to you," Krory stated rather than asked.

Timothy dipped his head slightly in response.

Again, Krory looked like he was on the verge of saying something, but ultimately retained his silence and awkwardly at that. Then again, Timothy supposed that if he himself had lived a similar life, then he too would probably have acted in a similar way. Hell, with Timothy having spent all this time with Allen, it was only a question of time before Timothy grew used to Krory's little quirks as well.

"Have you been in any type of contact with the Order?" Timothy then proceeded to ask, seeing that it was a question that most certainly needed to be asked.

The look of mystification that crossed the other's face proved very telling. "The Order?"

"Black clothes or white, with a rose cross on their chests." He accompanied his statement with supplementary gestures. "The Black Order, a subsidiary of the Vatican."

The former count's response proved negative, which was a good thing and especially so since they were currently headed for Paris, a place where they were far more likely to possibly encounter any of its operatives.

"Who's Emilia?"

It was involuntary, but his heart definitely skipped a beat.

"Allen said that we're going to see Emilia," Krory offered up as an explanation.

"Emilia Galmar." Timothy dropped his gaze to the still sleeping Allen before shifting slightly where he sat, planting his elbow against the carriage window and using it to prop his chin up as he looked out the window instead. "We're not going to see her, but she'll probably be wanting to see me... unfortunately."

"If she is an old friend of yours, then why is it unfortunate?" Krory asked, carefully.

"She disapproves of my life choices." Timothy looked out the window at the landscapes passing by, though he wasn't really paying any attention to them. "What she thinks they are, anyways, since I can't really tell her what I do."

"And why is that?"

He resisted a sudden urge to roll his eyes, settling for a slight snort instead. "For her own protection, mostly."

"Her own protection from what?"

This time around, he did snap his eyes towards the other, narrowing them. "Nosferatu, if we're going to travel together, then you must understand: Knowing too little is dangerous, but so is knowing too much. And, once I'm done with you, you'll also belong to the latter category."

He received a stunned nod in response, and took it for a sign to go on. "Cross Marian is an exorcist general of the Black Order, albeit a renegade one."

"As accommodators of Innocence, parasitic in our case, we are also exorcists, but unaffiliated. And so Allen and I will remain, and if you intend to do anything different, then we must part ways in Paris and forget that we ever met." He levelled his eyes upon the other, unwavering. "Because if anyone, through you or otherwise, learns about us, then we'll be killed."

"Why is that?" asked Krory, eyes going wide and then narrow, but definitely listening attentively. "Why would you be killed?"

Timothy allowed himself a slight shrug in response. "Because we're affiliated with Cross, and because we know too much… among other things."

Though he was making an effort to fill Krory in on the situation at hand and of their respective circumstances, Timothy had no actual intention to go into details as to what those other things may or may not include.

After all, even though they were likely to continue travelling together for quite some time, there were still certain things that the other was better off not knowing; Timothy's suspicions regarding the true nature of Allen's condition was one of them.

"Ultimately, the Order is a religious organisation; it does plenty of science, but is ultimately ruled by the church and various religious dogma," Timothy went on to explain. "They have declared a holy war on the Earl of the Millennium, and have sworn to exterminate his army of akuma."

A shadow crossed the other's face, for reasons that were perfectly evident and no less understandable. "Eliade…"

"You know now what they look like," Timothy responded, a look of distaste crossing his features. "Beneath the genteel façade."

The expression on Krory's face darkened even further.

"Don't forget that what you'll be dealing with are not humans; they're machines powered by human souls, born from tragedy. However…" Timothy sent a casual look Krory's way. "You also shouldn't forget that they too can feel and think, and that they too are victims."

"For accommodators of Innocence, joining the Order to fight in the supposedly 'Holy War' is compulsory," he said, looking out the window once more. "Akuma's may be tools of tragedy, but exorcists are a tragic existence in themselves. Then again, I suppose that so are we."

"How so?"

Through the window, he spotted a lone eagle soaring in the skies, chased by smaller shadows that were far more likely than not crows harassing it in order to drive it away from the vicinity of their nest. "Having killed your first love already, do you really need to ask?"

**-o0o-**

They arrived at the Hearst Orphan Asylum unannounced, but not unwelcome, and though spontaneous, the welcoming committee proved quite impressing ‒ to Allen and Krory at any rate.

Timothy on the other hand looked far less impressed with this recent turn of events. Then again, it might have had something to do with the reddening mark on his cheek that he kept rubbing insistently whilst being chewed out by a ponytailed brunette in a high-collared shirt, tie, long black skirt and high-heeled boots.

Of average height as she was, she still looked quite imposing, and seemed to possess quite a short temper from the looks of it.

"Would that happen to be the rumoured Miss Galmar?" Krory asked very quietly where they stood, blending into the background simply because everyone's attention seemed focused upon Timothy.

"That would seem extremely likely," Allen responded softly, keeping an eye on the proceedings halfway hidden behind Krory where he stood, seeing that Timothy's back would offer up little protection at the present. "But I'm definitely not asking."

They wordlessly agreed that this was probably the best decision, and reaffirmed this conviction when Timothy sent them a positively searing look for not running interference.

However, in time attention gradually shifted ‒ or rather, abruptly snapped ‒ towards the pair standing closest to the door, lingering on a stiffening Krory only briefly before ultimately zeroing in on Allen where he stood, eyes widening slightly in horror at the direction in which the situation seemed to be heading. "Oh Hell no…"

**-o0o-**

A mildly traumatising experience and a few explanations later, Allen exited the Hearst Orphan Asylum ahead of the others who followed about half a step behind.

"I'm never going back there," Allen flatly announced, and those following exchanged a look and a smile, which in Krory's case proved very strained and in Timothy's case bordered on a grin. "Over my dead body."

Hearing this, Timothy sniggered. "You barely flinch at the sight of tormented human souls, yet you would rather die than endure hugs and kisses from old ladies?"

"I would," Allen deadpanned, and Krory looked torn as to whether he ought to nod sagely or be worried on Allen's behalf.

"Fine, whatever." Timothy whistled. "How about you then, Nosferatu? Would you rather die than endure hugs and kisses from old ladies?"

Krory averted his eyes, but seemed to be considering it. "If possible, then I would like to avoid either."

Tch. How positively diplomatic of him.

"Gee, good old women are wasted on you people," Timothy snorted, rubbing his still aching cheek. "Young and fierce ones as well."

"Hugs are tolerable, barely," Allen snapped, pressing onward. "Kisses are icky and cheek pinching ought to be outlawed. If people touch me without my permission, why can't I just punch them? Or kick them? Claw them? Bite them? See how they like'em apples."

"If that's your policy, then I can't help but wonder how I still have all my limbs intact," Timothy mused out loud whilst Krory coughed, maybe or maybe not to disguise a chuckle.

"It's different with you," Allen calmly responded, not even looking back at them. "You're family."

"Then what is Krory?"

This time around, Allen did turn around partially, looking the aforementioned up and down and then up again before seemingly coming to a tentative conclusion, tilting his head to the side as a somewhat thoughtful look crossed his features. "The awkward newfound uncle?"

Timothy hardly bothered in hiding his amusement. The eyebrow of the topic of conversation gave a noticeable twitch however.

"Say, Allen," Krory then began, stepping up next to Allen and crouching next to him, uncaring as to whether the tails of his coat came into direct contact with the dirt on the pavement. "Which part exactly does Mr. Hearst fulfil in your family?"

Allen ‒ having turned to face him ‒ turned briefly to look in Timothy's direction and then turned back again, moments later, apparently having reached a tentative conclusion. "Overbearing mother hen."

The aforementioned choked on his own spit, whilst an actual grin split the face of Krory.

"What?" Allen deadpanned. "You are."

Krory looked like he was at the verge of chuckling, but he stifled it immediately when Timothy sent a positively withering glare his way, effectively shutting him up before moving along to Allen, who flatly returned the glare sent his way.

"To be specific, you're both the overbearing mother hen and the awesome big brother?"

Timothy felt his face twitch slightly. "Try again."

"And you're one of my three favourites, ranking waaaay above my bastard uncle, my kind uncle and my awesome grandaunt."

"Fine, whatever." Mild irritation gave way for feelings of exasperation. "On a separate note, our train won't leave for several hours yet, so do either of you have any places that you wish to see while we're in the area?"

Allen shrugged mildly whilst the former count looked mildly thoughtful. "Notre Dame?"

Again, Timothy found himself resisting a sudden urge to do an eye roll.

**-o0o-**

They managed to leave Paris without further incident and then continued eastward, obviously after leaving a quite generous donation to the orphanage, ensuring that if things went along as usual, it would be able to keep running for at least a few years to come.

They passed through the southern part of Germany, making use of the recently expanded railroad network, and then continued onward, crossing through the current and former territories of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and onward.

They had just crossed over into Bulgaria when they encountered a woman at an inn who turned over a letter from Cross, though calling the thing a letter was probably a stretch; it was a notice, and it was written in code, meant for their eyes only.

"Cross's telling us to get our arses over to India," Allen swiftly deduced as Timothy handed him the notice.

Krory kicked up an eyebrow in response.

"What?" Allen snapped, waving it around. "It literally says _Get your arses over to India and make a nuisance out of yourselves_."

Krory and Timothy exchanged a look, one with an accompanying frown and the other with exasperation. "Cross," they uttered in unison, and both knew well what the other meant.

**-o0o-**

Having restocked some of their provisions, they headed back to the train station.

Timothy headed their little troupe, with Allen and Krory trailing just behind him. It was after all the sensible thing to do, seeing that it had since long been established that Krory knew too little about the world and Allen, age and stature aside, barely had much of a sense of direction to begin with.

Arriving at the station, they spent a few minutes loitering around at the platform. They were not completely alone there, but there was hardly a crowd assembled when a train finally pulled into the station.

Moments after it had finally come to a stop, people began pouring from it; ragged-looking migrant workers from the looks of it, no doubt headed for the mines.

It lasted for a few minutes, going from a swelling tide into recession. It became a trickling flow that was eventually cut short as a small company of workers exited last; three adults and one child, all of them raggedy as far as clothes were concerned but seemingly in high spirits, though admittedly, the child looked rather sickly.

They were hardly anything special at a first glance, but Timothy in particular found himself taking note of their presence; unsettled by something, though he wasn't entirely certain as to what. Whatever it was, it caused Tsukikami to stir within him, which was unsettling at best and positively alarming at worst.

Even so, unsettled or not, Timothy didn't stop; he walked forward, walking past the group headed in the opposite direction, keeping his visible attention ahead even whilst remaining very much aware of the other group.

The train whistle sounded, and Timothy paused and turned partially, finding Allen standing a few steps behind them, craning his neck to look at the people who had just gone past. "Allen."

Allen abruptly snapped his head around, his eyes somewhat wide.

Timothy recognised that look. "What's up?"

"It's…" Allen turned his head once more, looking back towards the retreating group. "It's probably nothing; just a feeling."

In Allen's case, it was seldom just a feeling, but this time around, Timothy had other concerns at hand. "Well, come on," he said, extending a hand. "Krory's off finding us some seats. Let's see if we can find him."

Allen took the hand and got on the train. His attention however seemed to linger elsewhere, even as the train began to move.

"Allen."

Silver-grey eyes snapped to him anew, slightly exasperated now.

"They weren't akuma or anything of the sort, right?"

"No akuma," Allen deadpanned, squaring his shoulders. "Just ugly coke-bottle glasses."

With a sigh, Timothy permitted himself an eye roll.

**-o0o-**

Largely thanks to Timothy's usual resourcefulness, they made it to Cyprus and there they managed to board a ship headed for India. Thanks to the Suez Canal, they could travel by sea as opposed to by land, which by all means ought to have become a quite tedious affair. During their time with Cross, both Timothy and Allen had experienced their fair share of the tediousness that was either on horseback for extended periods of time or on camelback for just the same, seeing that the railroad network in Asia was not yet as extensive as the European one.

Obviously, staying aboard a ship for extended periods of time also had its drawbacks, though the strain was far more psychological than physical in their case. Or rather, it was, initially.

The Red Sea part of their voyage proved fairly uneventful.

However, when they approached the Gulf of Berbera, alternatively of Aden, the deceptive calm was shattered as Allen was the first to catch wind of the approach of more than just a few akuma in the night.

Thus, they hadn't exactly been unprepared for the night-time assault. However, none of them had been able to accurately gauge the increased level of difficulty that the appearance of a Level Three added to their already precarious situation, seeing to the fact that they had to manoeuvre around members of the crew that lay stricken and otherwise incapacitated out on the deck.

If possible, then they would have liked to minimise the number of casualties. Then again, if possible, then they would also have liked to minimise the number of witnesses.

Either way, at the time, they had little time or opportunity to be very concerned about that.

Their attack and defence strategy proved severely crippled, and even more so after the Level Three ‒ which harboured quite a troublesome ability ‒ had managed to take Allen hostage, temporarily subduing and securing him in a chokehold in order to utilise him as a human shield.

Timothy had found that his, Krory's and Timcanpy's combined efforts were not enough; their inability to cope had ultimately put them at the mercy of the Level Three, which courtesy of its special ability could kill them all off even without relinquishing its acquired shield.

Truth to be told, that night should have been the end for them.

The akuma could have and would have killed the lot of them and had indeed prepared to do so, only to pause in mid strike, looking confused and down at its acquired hostage, who was only just regaining his senses.

And if that in itself was not surprising enough, that which followed definitely took the biscuit and ate it at that, when Allen ‒ face pale and drawn and eyes half-mast ‒ spoke up, his voice soft but steady. "Stop."

It was a small voice, but it apparently held sway, seeing that the Level Three did just that; it stopped and simply stared at the child with what appeared to be confusion bordering on fear bordering on something else entirely, and it was the last that stood out as a sore thumb amongst the rest.

Timothy ‒ aware of the situation but unable to do much about the situation besides watching it unfold ‒ found himself experiencing emotions that bordered on something similar, alongside shock and disbelief that only grew as Allen ‒ still hanging in the grip of the akuma ‒ spoke up once more.

"What is the Earl planning?"

Seeing that the akuma made no move to attack any of them, Timothy snuck a quick glance off in Krory's direction, visually confirming that the other was still breathing before snapping his attention right back to the main spectacle in time to see Allen's feet make their impact on the deck as the Level Three had released him a few feet above it.

The impact was light, but though he made a decent landing, Allen looked decidedly unsteady when he got back up again. And, when he did so, he turned instantly towards the akuma still looming over them, further up in the air now but clearly staring at Allen as though he was something outlandish but also familiar.

"Speak."

The voice remained steady but small, though it was stronger now; determined.

There was evidently something contained within it; some inflection of power, seeing that a response soon followed, and a coherent one at that.

"The Master has ordered his faithful to hunt."

"Hunt what?" the small voice inquired, eerily calm.

Again, the response was near immediate. "The exorcist generals; the Heart."

Momentarily, Timothy mulled about the meaning of the latter, but he soon found that his attention flittered elsewhere as Allen lifted his head some, and the lights from one of the lanterns attached to the ship illuminated his features.

"Why did you attack us?"

Again, an immediate response. "Because you're exorcists."

"Why did you stop?"

Timothy's eyes and attention flickered back and forth between them, because even though he was decidedly worried for his downed comrade, whatever was going on before him held greater importance at the present and possibly even in the near future. "Why did you stop?" was after all an excellent question; it was…

"Because you ordered me to."

Timothy found his body rocked by an involuntary shudder, even as the last remnants of the effects of the previous attack had by then dissipated. And what followed only served to chill him even further.

"Why did you obey?" asked the child who was not a child.

"Because I must," said the Level Three that had only minutes prior had them at a definite disadvantage.

"Why?" The small voice; it was wavering at last. "Why must you listen to me?"

A response soon followed, but it was cut short by an expletive that was in turn followed by the akuma blowing itself up right before their very eyes, but mostly Allen's.

Though still somewhat perplexed at what had just taken place, Timothy quickly dove into action, making use of his newly regained mobility when Allen ‒ previously frozen up in shock ‒ swayed violently.

However, Krory ‒ who had at some point also recovered ‒ made it there more than just a few moments before him, catching the small body as it fell limp, lowering it down onto the deck where Timothy quickly took over, surveyed by a seemingly frantic Timcanpy.

"Will he be alright?" was the question that followed after several moments as Timothy tended to the only visible physical wound of any significance: the cursed scar, that had at the moment of explosion split open from one end to the other and was bleeding profusely because of it.

Timothy didn't look up; couldn't. "I don't know; I honestly don't."

Neither his voice nor his body shook very much as he said that. Now, inwardly on the other hand…

A hand landed on his shoulder, and heavily at that.

He didn't look up.

The grip tightened, nails digging into his shoulders even through the fabric of his coat.

He finally relented, lifting his head to meet with the eyes that were staring down at him, worriedly.

"Tim," the former count insisted. "It'll be alright."

Those were normally his words; Timothy's. Finding them reflected back at him now, the more jaded part of him could not help but appreciate the sheer irony of it all.

"You're right." He turned his attention back to Allen, who after all the blood had been wiped away looked almost peaceful. "We'll manage."

Truth to be told, he rather doubted it.

**-o0o-**

Thankfully, it would seem as though his worries were if not unfounded then at the very least unnecessary, seeing that Allen was up and about and in a decidedly foul mood less than twenty-four hours after the events, stumbling out of the cabin that they had been lent and out onto the deck with Timcanpy in a tow, holding a hand out in front of his eyes in order to shield them against the brightness of the sun, which stood high up in the skies.

"Yo," Timothy readily greeted. "How's your head?"

The response was immediate, and bordering on derisive. "Broken, since it hurts a lot and I can't remember why."

"Same old, same old, then?"

He received a dirty look for that one, but paid it little heed. Instead, he allowed his eyes to sweep across their immediate surroundings, passing briefly over the members of the crew that were out on deck, completing their tasks despite what had happened during the previous night, though obviously not without a cautious glance off in their general direction every once in a while.

The members of the crew were frightened but thankful; Timothy knew as much from the words and actions that had followed. The captain had perished, and had it not been for the interference of Timothy and the others, then all would have shared his fate with no one the wiser.

Then again, Timothy privately supposed that it was just as fair to assume that their own presence had been at least partially responsible for the event. Obviously though, he was not about to introduce this possibility to the minds of the crew, because obviously, he wasn't an idiot.

"So, what did happen anyway? Krory looked like I'd risen from the dead," Allen said, rubbing the healed but apparently still irritated skin on the left part of his face, looking like he was battling a sizeable migraine.

"I don't suppose that you would believe me if I told you that you stepped on one of your shoelaces, tripped over your own feet and knocked yourself out, would you?" Timothy quipped, simply because.

"No," was the immediate and deadpan response.

"Why not?" he questioned, giving him a look.

"Because I don't have shoelaces."

Timothy visually confirmed that it was indeed so, seeing that Allen ‒ like the rest of them ‒ was wearing sandals. "Fair point."

That earned him an irritable look. "You're basically saying that I don't wanna know, right?"

"How so?"

The eyes narrowed slightly. "Because you keep trying to distract me."

Seeing that his game was up, Timothy saw little reason to keep it going, per se. "How much do you remember?" he asked, leaning against the railing. "I'll fill you in."

The response was almost immediate; short and to the point. "Akuma. Level Twos and one Level Three."

His confirmation of this proved equally concise. "Yep."

Allen reached up to touch his own throat, darkened by bruises. "What happened to the Level Three?"

"It self-detonated. It wasn't a pretty sight."

The reaction was immediate. "Oh."

"I think that you might've inhaled some of the gas, because you collapsed right afterwards."

It was a lie, technically speaking, and the fact that Allen didn't catch it right away spoke volumes of his mental state when he instead of calling him out on it asked "But shouldn't I be immune?", to which Timothy responded with a "That's what we thought, but who knows?" followed by a tentative "Maybe you had gotten too great of a shock to your system to handle it?".

"Makes sense."

Normally, it would have. This time however…

Timothy directed his eyes towards the coastline that lay visible at the horizon. "Well, we're all here now and for the most part, none the worse to wear. And that's all that matters, right?"

The response that he got was muted; resigned. "I suppose."

"You don't sound very convinced," Timothy noted, giving him a look.

Again, there was a muted response; barely any response at all, as a matter of fact. Either way, it was a clear sign that another approach was needed, and he knew exactly what to do.

"Look," he said, stepping away from the railing slightly in order to crouch next to his charge. "I'm sorry about the akuma. Next time, I'll do it properly."

Allen snorted. "Why do you keep taking the blame for stuff that isn't even your fault?"

Timothy shrugged mildly. "Because I wasn't strong enough."

"To do what?"

"To possess a Level Three."

That earned him a look of disbelief that swiftly crossed over into exasperation. "Gee, Tim. It's not like me and Krory can even do that in the first place…"

Timothy straightened back up and leaned back against the railing, once again contemplating what lay at the horizon. "Well yeah, but unlike me, you people can fight nail and tooth while I need a body to hijack before I can do anything remotely useful."

There was a brief pause; a beat of silence, that was followed by an incredibly flat response. "Fair point. You really are useless."

"Hey!"

"Besides," Allen went on to say, also contemplating the horizon from the looks of it, Timcanpy once again perched on top of his head. "This time around, we were all pretty useless, but this was our first Level Three and we survived, so as long as we keep going, we'll-… Why are you looking at me like I've just grown a second head?"

The eyes stared at him now, snappy.

Timothy swiftly averted his own. "No reason."

The eyes narrowed slightly. "Tiiiim…"

"What?" he finally snapped as there was a harsh tug on his sleeve.

"Stop treating me like a child," was the snappish response.

"You are a child," Timothy remarked.

"I'm t-…"

"Still a child," he insisted, gaining a narrow-eyed response.

An obstinate "So are you" followed it.

"In the eyes of some," Timothy relented, before adding "But I'm still waaay older", because that was just as accurate as the first.

"You look fifteen," Allen persisted. "Coz you're short."

"Yeah, like you're the one to talk, pipsqueak. If I didn't know any better, then I'd put you down as nine, tops."

He received a decidedly pointed glare for that, but he wasn't done; not really.

"What?" he deadpanned. "That's what Krory thought you were. He didn't believe me when I told him how old you really are."

There was another brief pause, and then…

"Bet you that he didn't believe you on your actual age either."

There was really only one appropriate answer for that.

A wry smile was already playing on Allen's lips, and moments later, a similar one appeared on Timothy's. "Touché."

**-o0o-**


End file.
